


Wayward Heart (Welcome Home)

by SecretEnigma



Series: Blood of My Blood verse [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Crying, Depressed Noctis Lucis Caelum, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Let Them Cry It Out, Men Crying, Mentioned Nyx Ulric, Or Tries To Be At Least, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Prompto Argentum is a Ray of Sunshine, Prompto Could Shoot Them, Protective Noctis Lucis Caelum, Pryna Is A Good Dog, The Astrals Are Meddling Again, Their Idea of Helping Is Kinda Messed Up, Time Travel Fix-It, but they're trying, he's getting better, there are a lot of emotions okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEnigma/pseuds/SecretEnigma
Summary: It has been several months since Noctis was found and returned home to the Citadel and he is doing ... better. To an extent. But bad days still come with alarming frequency, and when he walks there is still a gap at his side, a lost look in his eyes, that none of his family know how to fix. Because how can you help fix something, when you don't know what exactly is missing?Then Prompto Argentum stumbles into the picture and suddenly that missing piece looks distinctly like the young teen's silhouette.In which it's not easy, and it's not without tears, but one way or another, Noctis's wayward Heart finds his way home.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Original Character(s), Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Blood of My Blood verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882282
Comments: 71
Kudos: 369





	Wayward Heart (Welcome Home)

**Author's Note:**

> *flings hands in the air* THIS TOOK FOREVER. And the first one-shot that is actually from Dionysus's POV is taking even longer, but hey I'm pretty pleased with this one. I also find it vaguely funny that it only took me under 10k words to write both Ignis's and Gladiolus's reunion, but it took me over 16k just to cover Prompto. But I have a LOT of feels about the brother-bond of Noctis and Prompto so I guess I should have expected it.
> 
> I will be doing one-shots where Dionysus is the main character I swear (this AU is trying it's hardest to grow even bigger than Nox verse on Tumblr gfgffg), but the repercussions of Noctis disappearing and stuff is just- so interesting to write *flails*. I'm also working on a few more that cover what all Noctis has changed (by accident or intent) when he cannonballed his way into the past as well as one that covers the whole Drautos Thing I've hinted at in earlier stuff but like- yeah. Bring on the Prompto Feels first.

There were ghosts all around him. Flickering in and out of view, real and solid one moment and then thin and dreamlike the next. He sat … somewhere —a courtyard he thought, but sometimes it was an empty field or a ruin or a war room or a **something else** and it was exhausting to keep track of—, just letting the ghosts pass him by, not caring enough to try to speak to them, or to parse out which ones were real and which ones were _memory-regret-joy-impressions_. He … he thought that Monica was nearby, keeping an eye on him, making sure he didn’t wander off somewhere more dangerous than an empty courtyard, but he didn’t raise his head to look, because that would take more energy than he wanted to spend, and he wasn’t sure if he would see Monica or … someone else — _one of the-his-the-his Shields of old-current-past-present kings-queens, or one of the Hands he had known-lost-loved-never-met_ —.

This wasn’t the worst Quiet Day he’d ever had. The worst ones were the ones where he couldn’t even tell he was having one because he was drowning so deeply under the memories lurking in his head. But it wasn’t a good Quiet Day either. Good Quiet Days were the ones where he just felt a bit tired and didn’t want to talk. He could still … function on those days. Mostly. Could push the memories back and keep his tongue from speaking the wrong-forgotten-dead languages no one else remembered when he **had** to speak. Days he could sit with Dionysus and doze in the sun while Gladio sat nearby and read a child-friendly book aloud.

Today was somewhere in the middle. Memories blurred with the present, but there was still a line between them somewhere in the fuzzy static. Ghosts touched his shoulders and played with his hair, but he couldn’t feel their fingers as if they were really there, only the faint impression of their hands that came from remembering a moment that wasn’t his. Memories that were _his-not-his-once-his-never-his_ tugged deep on his bones, pulling him down to the point of smothering, but not drowning. He could … if he **had to** , he could fight off a Quiet Day like this and function. Talk to people, think his own thoughts, banish his ghosts. But doing that would be … exhausting. It flirted with triggering a very, very bad Quiet Day later on, and unless there was something **important** , it just wasn’t worth the effort.

Dyn was safe. He remembered that much. Could feel Dyn’s magic somewhere in the higher levels of the Citadel, content and happy with Ignis. His father was somewhere else, busy with the Council probably, but his magic was calm and steady. If he reached out to Insomnia itself, to the layers of _memory-magic-lifetimes-come-and-gone_ that had been imprinted there by generations of Lucis Caelums, there was nothing drastically amiss for him to pay attention to. Today was peaceful, so there was no harm in letting the Quiet Day blanket his shoulders and turn his brain to hazy fog. There was no reason to **not** let it drift around him, like the touch of ghostly fingers on his arm, or the flickering memories of _life-death-young-old-king-prince_ coiling around his throat like a velvet noose.

“H-hey, are you okay?” The voice cut through the haze like a knife. It slid into his ribcage and buzzed up through his blood and Noctis flinched back to himself with a half-gasp. He blinked, trying to anchor himself to reality, to cope without the haze numbing all his senses and making the world grey. It took a second to adjust to awareness, to colors and sounds that didn’t smudge like paint or fade like echoes, but he had to. He had to because that had sounded like-. Like-.

“-Restricted area,” the woman — _Dawn-Thera-Vesta-_ ** _Monica_** — was saying to someone, not aggressive, but disapproving and stern, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.” Noctis blinked a few times, trying to parse out why he had woken up. Monica’s voice- that hadn’t been Monica’s voice earlier. That had sounded like someone else, but now that he was more himself than memory, he was aware enough to know that voice was impossible-.

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean- uh. I got separated from my group a-and then I saw him and just wanted to make sure he was o-okay. He looks like h-he’s-.”

_That voice._

Noctis stood up, pulling away from the haze of old memories that tried to tug him back down with a stubbornness and desperation that **burned**. He turned toward the voices and cut off Monica’s stern orders for the intruder to step back and wait for security to escort him away with a breathless, desperate, “ **Prompto**?”

Monica’s head snapped toward him in something like shock, but Noctis only had eyes for the skinny blond trying to turtle in on himself. The teenager —he was so **young** and **small** , had he always been that fragile looking at this age and Noctis never noticed?— froze like a Spiracorn in headlights, fingers clenched nervously over one of the tiny visitor’s cameras that were passed out at reception as a security measure rather than let people use their own phones and cameras. Blue eyes in a face dusted with freckles went wide and the boy —his boy, his sunlight, his **Heart** — stammered meaninglessly a little bit and Noctis had to fight to breathe for reasons totally different from his Quiet Day.

Noctis wanted to run to him, to cry and hug him tight and reforge the magic bond he had lost in the time-travel and promise he would never abandon Prompto again but he-. He couldn’t. He **couldn’t**.

This was the past.

This Prompto did even know him. Not really. Noctis had left when he was fourteen in this timeline, a year before he had met Prompto originally. At best Prompto remembered sharing a class with the prince before he was “kidnapped” and now-. Now he was **here**.

And Prompto was a stranger.

Noctis swallowed back the urge to scream, the urge to pull the numbness and fog of his Quiet Day around him like a shield, because it **hurt** just thinking about all he had lost and might never get back. Instead he took a few steps forward and scrambled with what to say, because this Prompto didn’t know Noctis, but Noctis had just said Prompto’s **name** and people didn’t just do that without a reason. Noctis inhaled and started lying through his teeth, “I … It is Prompto, right? I’m remembering your name correctly?”

Prompto looked like he was going to melt into the floor from shock and nerves, but he straightened up instead and answered with a voice that belayed the white knuckles on his temporary camera, “U-uh, yeah. I mean yes. Your Highness? I … I know we never really, um, talked but…” Prompto looked lost, trying to understand how anyone important would remember his name —as if Prompto himself wasn’t important, as if Prompto wasn’t Noctis’s light in the dark and the cornerstone of his entire concept of **normal** outside the Citadel’s tutors and duties and rules, his youngest and bravest brother—.

Noctis tried to smile, but it was only the barest twitch of his mouth. It was taking energy to do this, mental and emotional energy to both fight off the Quiet Day pushing at his head and not burst into tears at the sight of a Prompto who didn’t know how much he meant to Noctis, “We shared classes for years, since … grade seven at **least**. You’re part of the photo club. Or- you were. You always took really good pictures.” _You were my first friend who chose to be my friend for_ ** _me_** _, not because of duty or because I was a rich prince. We grew up together and shared crushes and pulled all-nighters. You took photos all during our road trip so you would remember everything and in the end I died with one of your memories in my hand because I couldn’t bear to die alone._

Prompto looked like a light breeze could knock him over —always thought he wasn’t noticeable, always believed he wasn’t **worth** noticing and it made Noctis ache that his Heart thought so little of himself—, “I … yeah that’s-. We shared classes since fifth grade, actually. I … I never knew you noticed me?” The last part was a breathless squeak as Noctis came to a stop in arm’s reach of Prompto —and when had he started moving? Noctis was concentrating so hard on staying calm and **present** in the conversation he couldn’t remember—.

Noctis tried another smile, but it wouldn’t hold, “You didn’t really seem to uh,” _want me to acknowledge you existed because you thought being anything other than thin meant you weren’t worth my time,_ “like talking to strangers. And … lots of people get nervous talking to me unexpectedly anyway so…”

Prompto swallowed hard, “Oh.”

Noctis struggled to breathe through the hum of his nerves and scrabbled desperately for a topic, an idea, **anything** that would keep Prompto around for just a little bit longer, “You said you got separated from your tour group, right?” When Prompto nodded with an embarrassed blush, Noctis shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking and jerked his chin toward the courtyard door, “Come on, I can show you around. I know some spots that should make for good pictures.”

Behind him, Monica bristled out of her shock, “Your Highness, I really don’t think-.” Noctis felt his magic spike out at her in _fury-silence-you-dare_ that smacked against her senses like a slap to the face, sharp and angry and warning before he managed to wrestle it back under his skin and send her a brief, half-hearted look of apology over his shoulder —he hadn’t meant to slap her with his magic like that, but she was inadvertently threatening his Heart—.

While Monica stood stock still, pale from the strike and from shock, Noctis hurriedly turned back toward Prompto and started to lead the way out of the courtyard, “It’s fine, Monica. I know the tour route by heart anyway.” He paused when he didn’t sense Prompto at his side, looked over his shoulder and swallowed the lump in his throat at the overwhelmed look on his best friend’s —former best friend’s, best friend in another lifetime’s— face, “Come on. I don’t bite.”

“U-uh, right!” Prompto scampered to catch up, still clutching the camera in his hands like an anchor, “I- thank you very much, Y-Your Highness.”

 _Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that like you’re a stranger and a nobody,_ “You can call me Noctis, if you want.” He forced out casually, “The title is just for formal situations anyway.”

There was a pause and for one heart-wrenching moment, he thought Prompto would refuse. If the change in setting for their “first” meeting would make him too afraid to be … Prompto. Then he saw Prompto’s shoulders straighten a little out of the corner of his eye, the familiar gesture of his friend gathering his courage, and when he dared glance over, Prompto flashed him a bright, sunlight smile, “Okay, Noctis.”

Noctis ducked his head and pretended to be double-checking their route through the Citadel so that Prompto wouldn’t see the shine of tears in his eyes. _Please,_ he begged in his heart, _give me this. Give me back my last brother. Somehow._

He took Prompto on a tour of the Citadel, but not the official route —he didn’t want to run into Prompto’s group, didn’t want to have to watch Prompto leave so soon and it was terribly selfish he knew but he couldn’t help it—. Instead, he showed him other things that weren’t “security risks” but were interesting to a photographer like Prompto. He let the boy have a peak at the royal gardens and chuckled when the boy eagerly took pictures of one of the Citadel strays lounging in a sunny patch. They talked as he led him through some of the older sections of the Citadel, the ones with murals on the walls and stained glass windows from past eras. It was all small talk, inane things like how school had been while he was gone —both of them carefully avoided the topic of **why** he’d been gone for so long and still not returned—, or how the weather had been for jogging —Prompto stumbled over his feet a little when Noctis brought that up, but then he shrugged and said Prompto just looked like he had a runner’s build, so he’d guessed—.

The more they talked, the more Prompto relaxed and the harder it got for Noctis to separate the Prompto of the now from the Prompto of his past. It hurt, but in a way Noctis clung to with all his might, hoarding each laugh and joke and eager story from his friend, every moment where Prompto saw something beautiful and took a picture or three of it. After the tenth time Prompto thanked him for guiding him around, Noctis tried to put the topic to rest with a flippant, “It’s fine. I know how easy it is to get lost in here if you aren’t used to it. It’s like a freaking KK dungeon, I swear.”

Prompto lit up like the sun again, “You play King’s Knight?”

 _Of course I do, you introduced me to the game in the first place,_ Noctis barely managed to keep from saying. He fisted his hands in his pockets and shrugged like it was no big deal, like there wasn’t a desperate, fool’s hope of a plan unfolding in his mind, “I’ve been getting into it ever since I … got back. Dad says it’s good for me to have more hobbies than just fishing, and I heard it was fun. I just got past the Midnight Manor dungeon, storywise. It took me forever, I kept getting lost in the third wing and my party was no help at all in finding the way out.”

“Dude,” Prompto chirped excitedly, “that dungeon is **so hard** , especially for beginners! I don’t know why they made it the first proper dungeon of the game. What’s your main?”

One of the cold lumps in Noctis’s stomach relaxed at finding such safe territory to talk in, at hearing Prompto get excited and his voice lose the last edge of nervous disbelief that he was talking to a prince, “At the moment I’m just a lowly Arcanist, but I’ve got some ideas on what I want to main when I get high enough. I’m going to go Summoner, I think, but I also really want to try out the Black Mage and the Ninja when I get the time. You?”

“All three of those are cool,” Prompto agreed with a grin, “Bard all the way, though recently I’ve started dabbling in the new Gunbreaker class, just to see what it’s like. Do you have a regular party?”

Noctis felt a genuine smile pull at his lips despite his internal turmoil, “I dragged Iggy and Gladio, they’re my Retinue, into the game with me, so yeah. Iggy’s our other Arcanist and I’m absolutely pegging him as a future Scholar. Gladio’s a Marauder.” He took a breath, debated if he was about to do something too reckless, then decided to try it anyway, “You wanna party up sometime? We could always use another member so long as you don’t mind running around the early game stuff with a group of newbies.”

Prompto froze for a moment, wide-eyed and astonished, then his grin was back and he all but bounced on his heels, “Dude, I would **love to**. I’ve been meaning to try out Monk for a while, so I can drop in as a Pugilist and come help you out. Show you around the game, maybe give you a few tips if you want.”

Noctis felt his insides tremble with barely hidden relief —a foothold, he had a foothold now, a connection, a **chance** , even if that chance was so terribly, terribly selfish—, “Cool. I’ll send you a friend invite.” Another breath, another reckless —desperate— decision, “Wanna do that now? I have the console version as well as the phone, so I could add you on the console and then we could play whenever.”

Prompto looked floored for a moment, then shrugged and laughed nervously, “I, uh, if you want to, sure! Are you sure you’re not- busy or anything? I mean, you’ve been showing me around for like- half an hour now.”

Noctis pulled out his phone to check the time and made the executive decision that Ignis could keep babysitting Dyn for a little while longer —this was important to him, not as important as Dyn, ultimately nothing was, but this was **Prompto** , his Heart, and all of his Retinue came in a close second to his son—, “Nah, anything on my schedule can wait a while longer.” Since Ignis had no doubt cleared his schedule the moment it became clear Noctis was suffering a Quiet Day. Tucking his phone away, Noctis led Prompto up to the residential floor and into his suite. He picked his way around Dyn’s toys left on the floor and ignored Prompto’s surprised and baffled looks at them with a prickling sense of unease —what if Prompto didn’t want to be friends with a single dad, what if-what if-what if—.

He was just signing into the co-op mode of King’s Knight so he and Prompto could find each other’s avatars when Gladiolus stomped his way into the suite with a worried frown. Prompto meeped softly and shrunk down a little in his seat as Gladiolus loomed over the couch, “Noct. Heard from Monica you were … feeling better.” _That you woke up from a Quiet Day and went to play tour guide to a total stranger when not even your dad can usually snap you out of those,_ Noctis heard unspoken. He ignored it for now, because how was he supposed to explain that Prompto was **important**? Important enough to push through a Quiet Day on the chance that he could remake that lost friendship? Instead he shrugged and gestured at Prompto, “This is Prompto. We used to go to school together. He got separated from his group, so I offered to show him around a little. Turns out he plays King’s Knight too and doesn’t mind partying up with some newbies, so I brought him up here so we could friend each other.” He kept his tone even, like it was nothing important or groundbreaking.

Judging from the way Gladiolus’s skeptical look at Prompto intensified, it wasn’t working. Gladiolus crossed his arms over his chest and stared Prompto down, “Oh really. That’s awfully nice of you.”

Noctis bristled, ready to defend when Prompto quailed from Gladiolus’s tone, except he … didn’t. His hands shook faintly against his knees, but he didn’t hunch his shoulders or flinch from Noctis’s Shield’s tone. Instead he smiled and gave a thumbs up, “Hey, King’s Knight is a great game, I’m happy to help someone else get into it. Plus, Noctis was super nice to show me around after I got lost. Fair’s fair, you know?”

Gladiolus grunted neutrally, still looking concerned and confused and Noctis held his breath, trying not to bristle at his Shield, because Gladiolus was just looking out for him, he didn’t understand how **important** Prompto was. But something must have shown on Noctis’s face when they locked gazes, because Gladiolus sighed and made a point to flop down on the nearest chair, “Alright, let’s party up. Noct, you got twenty minutes till the tour is over and Prompto needs to go home.”

Noctis slowly allowed himself to relax. He was sure he was going to get interrogated for this later, and that Cor would probably personally investigate Noctis’s “new friend” once he got wind of it but…

But for now, Prompto was **here** , sitting on the couch next to Noctis, cheerfully talking to him about the game they both loved and had bonded over in his last life. He was **here** and he seemed open to being Noctis’s friend again and really that was more than Noctis could have hoped for at all. He just … prayed that it would continue. That nothing would scare Prompto off, or make their friendship weaker than the one in his memory —though realistically the one of this timeline would likely never be as strong as the one in his memory, could never be, without the road trip, but at least he would have his Retinue, even if Prompto never formally joined as his Heart in this lifetime—.

An hour later, Prompto was long gone, returned to his tour group so he could be bussed home, and Noctis was in his suite, watching Dyn play happily with his stuffed toys on the floor and trying to ignore the way Ignis and Gladiolus both stared at him. Gladiolus broke the silence, “So. This Prompto kid.” There was no overt question in it, but the demand was there.

Noctis felt his jaw tighten, “I told you. We went to school together for a long time. We were just … catching up. Found out he played King’s Knight too and thought it would be fun to party up.”

“Noct.” Ignis murmured, gentle and soft, like he thought Noctis might break under too much pressure, “You were having a Quiet Day. You don’t even talk to **us** during a Quiet Day.” Noctis inhaled sharply and stomped on his magic to keep it from bristling, because Dyn was here and happy, and if Noctis’s magic got upset, then Dyn would get upset. The silence stretched on for a long time, long enough that Dyn looked up with a curious noise and Noctis had to paste on a smile so that his son wouldn’t realize anything was wrong. Dyn went back to playing with his toys and Ignis sighed, “Noctis, please.”

Noctis rubbed his face with a hand, “Don’t ask me to explain it, Iggy. You wouldn’t … you wouldn’t get it. Just … just trust me on this okay? Prompto’s a good kid. He won’t hurt me and I just-.” His voice cracked, Dyn looked up in alarm that Noctis couldn’t smooth away with a fake smile, because he had no more energy to smile with. _I need him. Even if we never become what we were, I need to_ ** _try_** _._ “I just … want a friend. Okay? Just- I love you guys, I **do** , but I want … I want to try making a new friend.” Noctis let Dyn crawl into his lap, wrapped his arms around his son’s waist on instinct even as he looked pleadingly at his Shield and Hand, “Give him a chance. Please.”

Gladiolus and Ignis exchanged long speaking looks with each other, then Gladiolus grunted, “Alright, Noct. We’ll give him a chance. But just **one**. If he blows it…”

 _He won’t._ “Thanks.”

Ignis adjusted his glasses, “We’ll still have to run a background check on him as well, of course, but … we will attempt not to scare him off.”

Noctis buried his face in his son’s hair to hide the rueful smile. Even fighting Astrals and getting thrown off speeding trains hadn’t been able to scare off Prompto in the last timeline, and even now, without any of their previous meetings or friendship to serve as an anchor, Noctis couldn’t see Prompto getting scared off by something as minor as Ignis’s and Gladiolus’s paranoia.

* * *

Ignis wasn’t certain what to make of Prompto Argentum, and it … unnerved him. The boy’s background check had come up clean —though Cor and Tiziana had both made … interesting expressions when they first got the report of the boy Noctis had taken an interest in—, and he didn’t appear on the surface to be anything special. He was the adopted son of a respectable pair of moderately wealthy middle class Insomnian citizens. His grades were average, he was part of three school clubs, the photography club, the track and field, and the school’s airsoft club —the last of which he had helped found according to the school’s information—. He had never gotten in trouble with the law, and the employer of his part time job had nothing but praise for the boy’s work ethic and honesty.

He was a model boy, but he was hardly anything **special**. Not special enough for Ignis to see why Noctis had taken such a sudden and unshakeable shine to him. Why Noctis had gone from being in one of his nigh-unshakeable Quiet Days —days were he tuned out the world and looked so tired and broken and lost it made Ignis want to cry— to being **social** with a boy he’d only known in passing at his school before being kidnapped. According to Monica’s baffled report, he had snapped out of his Quiet Day in moments just from the sound of Prompto’s voice, and then had nearly knocked her over with his magic in angry warning when she tried to separate them.

It was not anywhere near Noctis’s usual responses to strangers even on a good day, let alone on a Quiet Day where normally the only person who could drag him out of it was a distressed Dionysus. Yet from all accounts, Prompto’s mere arrival had drawn Noctis out of his shell, and a half an hour of conversation had led to Noctis inviting Prompto up to his suite so they could play a video game together. Which was behavior that, at best, could have fit with fourteen year old Noctis before he had been kidnapped —and even then was unlikely, as Noctis had never really taken to his peers in school—. For this Noctis? Almost eighteen years old and already a father? A survivor of everything Niflheim had done to him and then the long road home on his own? It was inconceivable.

Yet it kept happening.

Noctis gravitated toward Prompto in the following weeks like a moth to a flame, partying up with him over the internet on King’s Knight, texting him over the phone in casual conversation, even inviting the boy over to the Citadel a few times for lunch and movies on the Citadel’s biggest television. Being near Prompto brought out two sides of Noctis at once and Ignis couldn’t really get a handle on either of them. The first side was almost like seeing Noctis before he’d been kidnapped, cheerful and sarcastic and laidback, playful and interested in the world outside the Citadel and his duties as prince that he took so seriously since returning. The other side only came out in fragments when Prompto was around, only settled fully when Prompto had left for the day. A quiet, aching side, a lost side almost like a Quiet Day, but not as extreme. Like Prompto’s departure had taken something important inside Noctis with him and without it Noctis was left adrift until he focused once more on his son. It was **unnerving** to the extreme, and Ignis was not the only one to notice. Gladiolus had noticed too, but no amount of pushing from either of them would reveal what was going on in Noctis’s head.

Noctis’s therapist tentatively suggested that Noctis was projecting onto Prompto. They had suspected for a while that Noctis had not been alone for the entirety of his journey —the signs of mourning were clear when they thought to look—, and Ignis was not the only one who wondered if maybe Prompto reminded Noctis of someone who had helped him on his journey and then been lost. If Noctis was, either by intent or accident, projecting his feelings for a lost friend onto the civilian boy. It might make sense, and it made the way Prompto returned Noctis’s overtures of friendship with enthusiasm both suspicious and heartbreaking —suspicious because what if the boy was only pretending for the prestige of being the prince’s friend, heartbreaking because what if the poor boy didn’t realize Noctis might not be looking at **Prompto** when he smiled at his new friend—.

The new, confounding relationship lasted three months under their tentative watch before the next earth shattering revelation hit. Ignis had just finished reporting to Regis on the latest development of Noctis’s friendship with Prompto while Gladiolus babysat Dyn —babysitting the boy on Noctis’s behalf so he could hang out with Prompto in person had become a once-weekly event— and then returned to Noctis’s suite to check on the pair in the guise of bringing snacks —Monica and Dustin were both just outside the door, and Noctis could absolutely defend himself against a civilian boy, but after what had happened, none of them felt like being lax in their protectiveness—. He was just coaxing the pair into pausing their game to eat —and then hopefully talk Prompto into going home soon, as Dyn tended to get upset when parted from his father for too long—, when the door to the suite opened and Monica’s voice drifted through in a panic, “-not gone home yet!”

Little feet pattered across carpet as Dionysus ran into the suite ahead of Gladiolus’s frantically grasping fingers, straight into the legs of the startled Prompto.

Ignis stopped breathing, mind a blur of horror and the desperate hope that maybe he could reach Dionysus in time to pull him away and save Prompto’s life as Noctis went deathly still. In his mind, Ignis was seeing over a dozen incidents replay before his eyes. Moments when unfamiliar servants or Crownsguard —or in one very disastrous case, a nobleman— had gotten too close to Dionysus and Noctis went from being calm and doting to violently protective. The servants usually escaped with just a bad scare and migraines from the screamingly furious magic that slammed into their bodies in warning for getting within a dozen feet of Dionysus. Two Crownsguard had not been so lucky, having gotten within arm’s reach of the boy without Noctis’s permission and getting either knocked out or an arm and several ribs broken during Noctis’s explosive response.

Now this boy, who Noctis was oddly fond of but had only known for **three months** , was actually **touching Dionysus**. Through no fault of his own of course, but-.

Prompto didn’t seem aware of the massive impending danger, just crouched down to gently steady Dionysus with his hands as the toddler bounced off his legs with a noise of surprise, “Whoa there, Little Guy! Where’d you come from?” Dionysus cringed away from Prompto’s touch and Ignis and Gladiolus both rushed forward in the hopes of stopping imminent bloodshed as Noctis unfroze-.

Crouched down next to Prompto and gently pulled Dionysus into his arms with a faint, nervous smile, “This is Dionysus. He’s my son.” Prompto gaped, so did Ignis and Gladiolus, but for different reasons as, instead of screaming or raging or pulling blades from his armiger like he had against **trusted Citadel staff** , Noctis just ducked his head to kiss his son’s hair and then nervously glanced at Prompto for a reaction. The magic tied to Ignis’s soul didn’t hum with _fear-protectiveness-rage_ , but instead a heady mix of _longing-nervousness-hope_.

Prompto slowly plopped down from a crouch to a sitting position on the floor, staring first at Dionysus, then at Noctis, “I … I didn’t know you had a kid,” he managed with a squeak.

Noctis swallowed and the nervous hope in his magic grew, holding Ignis and Gladiolus in place, silent witnesses to an impossible scene, “We’ve kept it quiet. I … the media was already going crazy over my return. I can handle it, but Dyn is just- he’s only two. He’s gonna be three in a couple months but-.”

Prompto nodded, “That would be a nightmare for a toddler.” The blond looked unusually solemn as he shifted his gaze to Noctis’s face, “My lips are sealed. I won’t tell anyone about him, I promise.”

Noctis smiled weakly, “You don’t … you’re not freaking out?”

“Over the fact that you have a kid? Dude, I am **absolutely** freaking out.” Prompto said with far more calm than his words implied. Noctis started to flinch but Prompto kept going, “But that’s more because if he’s almost three, then that means you definitely had him while you were kidnapped and I’ve seen a lot of really bad movie plots along those lines that **nobody** should have to live through. Let alone my **friend**.”

A shaky breath from Noctis, “We’re … still friends?”

Prompto lightly bumped Noctis’s shoulder with his fist, “Of course we are, man!” Prompto’s expression softened to something devoted, something warm but with a core of steel that Ignis usually only saw in a mirror or in Gladiolus’s eyes, “I’m your friend for as long as you want me to be.”

Noctis exhaled and nerves turned to a flood of **relief** that made Ignis feel weak kneed just from glimpses of. He smiled and the expression was far more genuine, almost teasing, “If that’s the case, then, fair warning, but you’re gonna be stuck with me for a **long** time.”

Dionysus, who had been watching his father interact with Prompto, interrupted whatever Prompto was about to say next with a tentative, “Da? Safe?”

Noctis ran his fingers through his son’s hair, and even though Ignis shouldn’t have been shocked by his response, not after what they’d just seen, he was still floored, “Absolutely safe, Dyn. This is my friend Prompto. He’s as safe as Iggy or Gladio, okay?” A gentle tug at violet-red hair, “Can you say hi to Prompto?”

Dionysus considered Prompto with solemn eyes while Ignis and Gladiolus exchanged wild looks because **since when** was a random civilian teenager Noctis had befriended three months ago as “safe” as Noctis’s **own Retinue**? While they struggled with that, Dionysus held out a shy hand and smiled, “Hi, Prom. ‘M Dyn.”

Prompto took the tiny hand in his own with a gentle sort of reverence and shook it up and down, “Hi, Dyn,” Prompto parroted back with a lopsided, soft smile, “It’s nice to meet you, little buddy.” Prompto let go of Dionysus’s hand, then looked over at Noctis hesitantly, “When we meet up is he…?”

Noctis stood up, scooping Dionysus into his arms as he did so, “Ignis and Gladiolus take turns babysitting him.”

Prompto frowned as he stood up too, “Dude, I don’t want to keep you from your kid. If I’ve been causing any problems-.”

“You’re fine,” Noctis interrupted firmly —desperately—, “Dyn doesn’t mind, and I…” He exhaled slowly, “I **love** Dyn, I do. But … I miss having a life outside him, you know? Being your friend has been … it’s been good for me. For both of us. I’m told,” Noctis’s face pinched in faint annoyance, “that I can’t spend my every waking hour obsessing over my son. I need a social life outside him, even if he will always be my priority.” His expression fell into something nervous, “Not that-, not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you. This isn’t just-, something I do because my therapist told me to.”

Prompto smiled and tentatively reached out to tap Dionysus’s nose with a finger, making the boy giggle, “Dude, I get it. I do babysitting jobs in my neighborhood sometimes. I’ve heard **all** the ‘I love my kid but I just need a day to myself once in a while or I’m going to explode’ speeches. If I can help in any way, either by hanging out with you or by babysitting, just let me know, okay?”

Noctis’s shoulders unwound again, “Thanks. I … I really appreciate that.”

Ignis watched in vague, paralyzing shock as the two teens exchanged a few more jokes and pleasantries before Prompto left for the day. As soon as Prompto had gone, Noctis shut down, doting on Dionysus and refusing to so much as **look** at Ignis and Gladiolus, let alone answer the desperate questions on their tongues. Confused and concerned and more than a little desperate, Ignis returned to the king and reported **everything**.

That evening, King Regis set down his knife and fork with a sigh after a long period of stilted small talk. Ignis tried his hardest to blend into the furniture next to Gladiolus by the door, desperate for answers and hoping this would not end poorly, “I was informed that Dionysus met Prompto today.”

Noctis stilled, stared down at his food with slowly tensing muscles, “Yeah. It was an accident, the boss took longer to beat than we expected, so Prompto was still there when Gladio brought Dyn back to the suite. It went well. Dyn likes him.” Dionysus glanced up briefly at the sound of his name, then went back to eating when no one seemed to need his attention.

King Regis watched Noctis across the table for several long moments, then folded his hands together on the table, “Noctis…”

Noctis’s shoulders went rigid, “Don’t.”

“I’m only concerned for you, my son. You’ve grown alarmingly attached to this boy in a very short time-.”

Noctis’s grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles turned white, “Don’t get started on that. Your background checks came up clean, he’s not **dangerous** -.”

“I’m not saying he is-.”

“-friend, you’re always telling me to listen to my therapist and **she** says I need to have a life outside my responsibilities as Crown Prince **and** my responsibilities as Dyn’s father, so why is everyone getting upset that I’m doing just **that** -.”

Dionysus was watching the argument now with slowly widening eyes. Ignis could feel magic beginning to leak into the air, swirling and heavy, sitting in Ignis’s guts like _dread-anger-despair_ even as King Regis’s less familiar magic tugged at his spine in _worry-frustration-sadness_. Noctis bared his teeth at the table as his voice began to rise and King Regis cut through it with a pointed —desperate—, “ **Noctis**.” Noctis paused in his tirade, glanced up through his hair at his father and Ignis wished for a long moment that he hadn’t said anything to King Regis, even though this **was** a matter that needed addressing. King Regis sighed and stood up. He came around the long royal dining table, petting Dionysus’s hair as he passed to comfort the boy before coming to a stop at Noctis’s side. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and Ignis politely dropped his gaze. He couldn’t leave them alone, he was part of Noctis’s Retinue and security detail for meals, but he could at least not watch them.

The tension in the air simmered, settled with a grudging, shamed reluctance. Then King Regis murmured, “Noctis, I want you to be happy, and I am glad you have found a friend. But you have known the boy for only three months. You still let only a handful of Crownsguard near Dionysus and you’ve known some of **them** for most of your life. You had no friendship with this boy beyond a passing acquaintance before you were taken, and now you have let him wholeheartedly into your life without so much as a moment’s hesitation. I’m just…” King Regis sighed, and Ignis didn’t have to look to sense the weight on the man’s shoulders, “I’m just concerned for your emotional wellbeing.”

The silence was weighted, reluctant. Then Noctis mumbled something in a slurred, muffled way that meant he was likely rubbing his face with a hand. King Regis shifted, and out of the corner of his eye, Ignis thought he saw the older man rest his hand on Noctis’s spine, “Noctis?”

“Prompto is my Heart.”

The words, cracked and teary and so raw they were practically bleeding, sucked all the air out of the room. Ignis jerked his gaze back to Noctis despite himself and saw his friend —his prince, his **brother** —, glaring at the table with too-bright eyes. Noctis closed his eyes and ran a shaking hand through his hair, “He’s my Heart,” Noctis repeated in a broken whisper, “I knew it from the moment he found me during my Quiet Day.”

King Regis looked as floored as Ignis felt, even though Ignis could already feel pieces flying together in a way that made **too much sense** , “You-. You’re certain?” Murmured the king, “So soon?”

Noctis scoffed and the sound was bitter, “Yeah, I’m **sure**.”

King Regis glanced over at his own Shield, and Lord Amicitia looked as unbalanced as Gladiolus did, even though now that it had been said aloud … it made so much sense. A sickening amount of sense. Noctis had claimed Ignis and Gladiolus the day they reunited, had clung to those bonds as he struggled through the beginning stages of pulling himself back together from his ordeal. More than Lord Amicitia, more than the Marshal, more than **his own father** , Noctis trusted his Retinue. Trusted his Hand, trusted his Shield. He clung to that trust like a lifeline, and it had sometimes been all the two could do to cling in return as they struggled to make sure Noctis didn’t spiral out of control into a dark headspace.

 _A king needs his brothers,_ whispered some part of Ignis’s mind, _and a Lucis Caelum needs their Retinue._ It had been a fact of life, a necessary tradition, a privilege and a sacred duty for centuries, since quite possibly the founding of the Lucis itself. Lucis Caelums **needed** a Retinue. A Shield to guard them, a Hand to guide, a Heart to light their way. The Sword was less common, but even that one had been claimed many times in history, to carve a path to victory through hopeless odds. King Regis had been the first Lucis Caelum in decades to accumulate a full Retinue, and it was generally considered —among those who knew of the full traditions and necessity of the Retinue— to be a sign of the times that their king had claimed even a Sword. A sign of the trials King Regis had gone through as a prince —and arguably was still going through as the king of a nation that had recently been **losing** the war and was now only slowly pushing back—.

How much more would Noctis, a Lucis Caelum torn from his home, captured and tortured by the enemy, left to find his own way home with a child, need a Retinue of his own? Gladiolus and Ignis had been within easy reach when he returned, and he had so clearly **needed** them — **still** needed them, sometimes with a desperation lurking in his eyes that made Ignis want to cry—, but after everything Noctis had been through without them-.

Yes. Ignis could see why Noctis needed a Heart. Why he had latched on so fervently when Prompto entered the scene and unknowingly offered himself up as that potential light. But Prompto was a civilian, a high schooler with no experience in trauma or battle. Was Prompto really the Heart that Noctis needed?

Ignis thought of Noctis’s behavior the last three months, the way his easy smiles had slowly come back and his nightmares had decreased bit by bit. How playing or talking or just being around Prompto seemed to make Noctis lighter, calmer, **freer** than he had been since he was fourteen —maybe even before that, since before the Marilith nearly took his life and Tenebrae burned—. He thought of Prompto, a teenager untouched by anything close to Noctis’s life experiences, coming face to face with the knowledge that his friend had a son —had been **forced** to have a son— and accepting it with barely a blink. Accepted Dionysus and the clear importance he had in Noctis’s life without so much as a question or a flinch or a shout. He thought of everything that had **improved** since Prompto wandered into Noctis’s life…

And he wondered how he hadn’t seen what Prompto was to Noctis before.

King Regis seemed to come to a similar conclusion, and gently rubbed his hand down Noctis’s back, “Are you … planning to make it official?”

“And ruin his **life**?” Noctis snapped back, glass brittle and dangerously self-loathing, “He’s **seventeen** , he’ll be turning eighteen this year. He doesn’t deserve for me to spring something like that on him, especially when he doesn’t know what it means. Maybe … if he’s … when he’s twenty. I might … I might tell him. I might ask him. But for now…” Noctis shook his head and Ignis hated the way Noctis looked so empty inside, “I can’t ask him to upend his whole life like that. He’d have to learn court protocols, and join the Crownsguard, and I don’t-. He deserves better.”

King Regis’s face twisted, and Ignis thought it was likely a mirror of his own expression. Noctis didn’t look up, barely shifted enough to let his worried son crawl into his arms and hold him tight. It was Lord Amicitia that broke the silence, coming over to rest a hand on Noctis’s back just below his king’s, “If he is truly your Heart, then he wouldn’t see it that way, Noctis. None of us see it as a burden, or as ruining our lives. We wouldn’t be part of the Retinue if we did. You know as well as Regis does that a bond cannot be formed if either party is truly unwilling.”

Noctis nodded, but didn’t look up from fidgeting with his son’s shirt. King Regis finally let the matter go with a final, coaxing murmur that Noctis should think about asking Prompto sooner anyway, because it wouldn’t hurt to, but Ignis could already tell from from Noctis’s expression what he thought of that advice. Noctis looked empty and lost. It went without saying that he had no intention of asking Prompto to be his Heart or to join his Retinue for a long time. If ever. No matter how much it hurt Noctis himself.

And it was that expression, that lost, helpless darkness in his friend’s eyes, that led Ignis to take matters into his own hands a few weeks later when he overheard Noctis talking to Prompto over the phone about how to rearrange their plans. Prompto had sprained his ankle while on a run badly enough that he was trying to stay off it and at home as much as possible for at least the next two weeks. The two had been planning to sit and watch a new television show of some kind here in the Citadel, but now Prompto was cancelling and Noctis was **visibly** distressed over it —not at the cancellation, but at the reason behind it, at the thought of Prompto being in pain—. “-just stay in your house all **alone** , what if you need something?”

Ignis paused in his tasks, shared a speaking look with little Dionysus who had been playing on the floor with his toys and his father until Noctis got Prompto’s phone call. For a little toddler who was not yet three, there was an oddly knowing look in Dionysus’s eyes as he glanced from Ignis to Noctis. A simple, expectant faith that Ignis would **fix this** somehow. Ignis sighed. He knew, logically, that Noctis had no reason to worry. It sounded like just an ordinary —if very unpleasant— sprain, and Prompto would hardly be **alone**. His parents would doubtless check regularly on him and arrange for help if it was needed while they were at work. But … this was Noctis’s Heart, for all he refused to tell Prompto that.

It had been several months since Noctis’s return, and none of them were willing to let Noctis out of their sight for anything trivial … but for this?

Ignis was already texting the needed parties with one hand as he gently took the phone from Noctis and began to make arrangements with Prompto. He would hardly expect Prompto to be fine with a bunch of Crownsguard or Kingsglaive invading the privacy of his home but … the Kingsglaive in particular good at going unseen. If Noctis went early enough in the morning, and there were Kingsglaive stationed at key points in the neighborhood and also in a perimeter where **no possible entrance** to the house went unseen…

Perhaps it would be good for Noctis to get out of the Citadel for a few hours to check on his friend. Even if it was only to another house and his location was **heavily** monitored at all times, quite probably by as many Kingsglaive as King Regis could conceivably hide in a residential neighborhood and a few more Crownsguard besides.

* * *

Noctis honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever been to Prompto’s house in his last life. He … he **thought** he had, but when Monica pulled up to the address, the house before him was unfamiliar. Almost ominously so.

Or maybe that was just because last time around he hadn’t been experienced enough with magic to sense the lack of life in the place. He could easily feel **Prompto** in the house, feel the faint impression of _sunshine-laughter-fear-hope_ that made up his friend’s base aura imprinted in the boards and panels of the house, but there was barely any sensation of anyone **else**. No other auras of life and emotion imprinted into the foundations of the home, brushing up against the steady, passive channels of magic that ran through the entire city thanks to roughly two thousand years of being lived in and ruled by Lucis Caelums. If Noctis didn’t know any better, didn’t know that Prompto was only a minor, he would have thought that Prompto was the only resident here.

That, coupled with the knowledge of several lifetimes that let him translate Prompto’s behavior both now and in the future-past, were painting a picture that he **really** didn’t like.

But that was a problem for … later. Right now, he was here to check on his friend and have some fun and pretend that his dad hadn’t essentially overrun the neighborhood with security — **and** insisted that Noctis wear two trackers, one sewn into his shirt and the other disguised as a necklace— to feel like Noctis wasn’t going to disappear while visiting a friend’s house. Noctis went along with it mostly out of guilt —he’d put that fear in his father, he’d put that suppressed panic in Cor’s, Ignis’s, and Gladiolus’s eyes—, but also because these measures had been the only way he’d gotten Gladiolus to agree to stay behind and babysit Dionysus with Ignis. Gladiolus had thrown a fit over it, because he took his Shield duties **very** seriously now, but Noctis had been just as agitated over leaving the Citadel without Dionysus at his side and only the promise of both his Shield and Hand guarding his son had been able to soothe his instincts.

Noctis was pretty sure that he and everyone else in the Citadel were a **mess** over this, but everything was arranged, everything was settled, and he was here to hang out with Prompto.

He nodded briefly to Monica, then slipped out of the car and up the steps of the house while Monica pulled away —to go lurk just a block away no doubt, obsessively watching his trackers’ signals—. He knocked and Prompto opened the door a moment later, grinning despite his limp and the bandage on his ankle. Noctis eyed it and resisted the urge to whip out an elixir, “Dude, that does **not** look like a casual sprain.”

Prompto waved off his concern with a laugh as he closed and locked the door, “Eh, I’ve had worse. I don’t even need crutches for this one, it just needs some regular rest and ice.”

Noctis hummed but didn’t protest —even though he wanted to—, “I brought popcorn.”

Prompto grinned, and the expression of easy joy was a balm on Noctis’s soul, “Really? Is it real popcorn or that fancy gourmet stuff Ignis insists on making?”

“Guess.” Prompto laughed at Noctis’s dry tone as he limped over to the couch and flopped down. Noctis took a moment to look around in curiosity as he followed. He … really hadn’t been to Prompto’s house, had he? Weird. It looked … ordinary enough he guessed, not that he would know what “ordinary” looked like. There was a well-worn throw blanket on the back of the couch and a dining table crammed between the little kitchen and the living room area. Noctis froze for a moment when he saw the guns displayed proudly on the wall, because … Prompto had never handled a gun until he’d started training to try out for the Crownsguard. Noctis was sure of that.

Prompto saw him staring and gave a nervous laugh, “Oh, those. Don’t worry man, they’re not real ones. They’re airsoft models. I use them for one of my school clubs.”

Noctis glanced from Prompto to the … airsoft guns? On the wall. They certainly looked real enough to him. Prompto stood up again, wincing faintly before limping over to the wall and picking up one of the pistols. He did a chamber check and held it out so Noctis could see that it was empty and also … definitely not meant for real bullets. The bore was far too narrow for it to be a real version of the model it looked like. It really was an airsoft, like what the Crownsguard used during training exercises. Noctis cautiously took it from Prompto’s hands and hefted it, “Huh. I didn’t know these were a thing outside Crownsguard training.”

“Yeah,” Prompto’s expression lit up in a way that was … very similar to his face when he was talking about his camera and photography, “I didn’t know either at first, but people use them for competitive sports too. Some of the guys and I started an airsoft club in the school two years ago. We’re still small, but we’re getting bigger. We figure that the club will be big enough to compete by the time graduation rolls around.”

 ** _What_** _?_ Prompto had never been in an airsoft club the last time around. Noctis hadn’t even known airsoft clubs were a **thing** last time around. They definitely didn’t seem like something Prompto would be interested in. Noctis handed it back to Prompto, who put it back on the display, “What made you … what got you interested?”

Prompto stilled, just for a half-second or less, then shrugged and put ran a hand through his hair, “Dunno really. I just stumbled on it and … it sounded like fun. Running is great and all, and I enjoy it, but sometimes it’s nice to have a purpose for all the effort, you know? A little more competition and strategy involved than just ‘run for the finish line as fast as you can’.”

 _No, I don’t know. I don’t know why you’re lying to me._ Noctis pushed down the sting of it. Prompto lied sometimes, he’d known that for years. Prompto had always lied about his armband and his origins, and sometimes about far littler things because he didn’t want his friends to worry about him or think less of him —even though they never would have—. But he didn’t know why Prompto was lying about **this**.And Prompto **was** lying. Noctis had known Prompto long enough to know his tells. The brief pause, the overly casual behavior, the way he ran a hand over his hair or rubbed his neck-. Prompto was lying about something.

Noctis let it go. This wasn’t- this wasn’t the Prompto he knew. This wasn’t the Prompto who was his bonded Heart and part of his Retinue. If Prompto didn’t want to tell him the real reason he’d gotten into airsoft guns … that was his choice. Noctis shook his head and steered Prompto back to the couch, intent on letting the matter slide and having a good day with his friend. They sat down and Noctis pulled the still-hot popcorn out of his armiger and they spent the next two hours binging the first half of the first season of a show Noctis knew from future memories was a good one. It was fun. They laughed and booed and jostled shoulders and for a moment Noctis could forget the gaping chasm of memories and lost futures and just enjoy hanging out with his best friend. He wished Ignis and Gladio could be there too, but they were babysitting Dionysus by his own request, and it was still a lot of fun being with just Prompto.

They had paused for a bathroom break and to grab fresh drinks when something crashed loudly upstairs. Noctis stepped in front of Prompto in an instant, a sword dropping into his hand from armiger, heart racing and mind spinning. There were Kingsglaive and Crownsguard all over the neighborhood, by all rights **nothing** should have gotten in. While he debated calling Monica for backup, he saw Prompto pull down one of his airsoft guns from the wall and load it —which honestly he doubted would help, unless maybe Prompto intended to shoot those pellets in the eye of whatever was intruding—. Abandoning the idea of calling Monica for just the moment —if he did that the visit would be over, false alarm or not, and besides that, he could handle a common assassin or three on his own—, Noctis whispered, “Stay here.”

“Noct-!” Prompto hissed back until Noctis growled at him, low and angry —this Prompto didn’t know how to fight, this Prompto wasn’t the one who could shoot a Coeurl in the eye at a hundred paces with a pistol and never miss, this Prompto was **vulnerable** —. He glared at Prompto and gestured for Prompto to **stay back** , then turned back to the stairs and took them two at a time with as much quiet as he could. There had been no other crashes, no other sounds of intrusion. It was possible that something had just … fallen over naturally. An improperly stacked item finally sliding out of place for who knew what reason. It might be nothing.

It might also be something, and Noctis wasn’t dumb enough to take that bet.

He checked each of the upstairs rooms as he went, shield spell prepped and sword at the ready, but everything looked normal. He finally got to the last room and nudged open the door to find that it was Prompto’s bedroom. He also found the source of the crash. Noctis lowered his sword in confusion, “Pryna?”

The cream and white dog wagged her tail at the sound of his incredulous whisper, then snuffled at the mess on the floor that was likely her fault. Noctis hadn’t seen Pryna since Alt- since before his time-travel, but he definitely remembered her being the mild-mannered one of the Messenger pair. Not prone to knocking things over on a whim and giving people heart attacks. She also didn’t seem like the type to do it accidentally, and she had no **reason** to be here in Prompto’s room that Noctis knew of. Pryna wagged her tail again with a low woof and Noctis dismissed his blade with a sigh, “What are you doing, baby girl?” He tiptoed his way through the mess and crouched down to scratch her ears. She licked his hand, then stuck her head in the pile of books and shoeboxes. Noctis pulled at her chest, trying to make her stop because this was Prompto’s private stuff. Messengers might not have had a clue about personal space and privacy, but Noctis did and he respected Prompto too much to violate it because of a nosy Messenger, “Hey, stop that. You’re gonna break something-.” Pryna pulled free of the junk with another triumphant woof that was muffled by the camera strap in her mouth. She shook her head, rattling the object until he grabbed it and roughly pulled it free of her teeth, “Hey, spit that out! That’s … not … a…”

He stared.

And he didn’t understand.

“Hey, dude, are you being strangled by assassins up here because I can call for help-.” Noctis didn’t look up when Prompto entered the room and stopped dead. He didn’t look up when Prompto made a strangled, terrified noise, didn’t care that Pryna had disappeared just as Prompto entered as if she’d never been. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, to look **away**.

He didn’t understand.

“…Noct? Noct, are you, uh … okay? Can you… can you give me my camera back?” Shaky, pale fingers reached for it and suddenly Noctis was on his feet. He was standing and grabbing Prompto by his shirt and shoving him up against the wall, not hard, but pinning, restraining, because he didn’t understand and his head hurt and his **heart hurt** and he **needed answers**.

“Where did you get this?”

Prompto was white-faced, one hand clutching at Noctis’s wrist and his face torn between confusion and a fear that gutted Noctis —fear of him or fear of the truth he couldn’t tell and did it matter when those eyes were looking at him so pleadingly? So desperately?—, “I-it’s mine, dude. I’ve had it for years.”

Noctis opened his mouth, shut it on the **anger** that wanted to come rushing out. He gritted out instead, “Where did you get it, Prompto?”

A flinch, a twitch of Prompto’s hands like he wanted to scratch his neck, “I, I bought it at a second hand shop-.”

There were traces of blue lining Noctis’s vision and he couldn’t stop himself from **snarling** , voice thickening with echoes of _memories-magic-intent_ , “ **Don’t lie to me!** ” Prompto flinched back against the wall, terrified, and it **hurt**. _My fault._ Noctis swallowed hard, forced his grip to loosen, forced himself to step away, one hand still clutching the camera strap. He shifted, silently giving Prompto an out, a way to the door and escape even though the need to get answers was burning through his blood like fire. “This camera,” Noctis rasped wetly, “is a Shera Thirty-Two Forty, and it used to be **mine**.”

And it was, it **was**. He knew this camera as intimately as he knew his weapons and his armiger and his own scars. He knew the scratches on the casing, he knew the chip near the bottom that rubbed against the fingers of whoever held it, and the little spiderweb crack on the viewscreen. He knew the faded black camera strap with its little embroidered chocobos on it. The camera had been a gift. A gift to Prompto for passing his Crownsguard test, for finally being an official part of Noctis’s Retinue only a few months before the roadtrip. He’d kept it in his armiger for safe keeping, and Prompto had loved whipping it out of thin air to snap a picture at any opportunity. It had been through everything with them, every adventure and fall and near death and dungeon. It had been with Prompto those ten years of darkness Noctis had never seen. It had been with them those final days in the ruins of Insomnia even if Prompto hadn’t used it because the battery died on the city outskirts. It had been there for one final picture on the Haven just outside the city before it all came to an end —before Noctis had crushed their last hope and told them the secret of the Prophecy, told them that he loved them, that he was at peace with this because he knew otherwise they would defy fate for him and let the world burn—.

When he had woken up in the past, everything that had been in his armiger the moment he time-traveled had come with him. Every weapon and potion and phoenix down.

Everything except the camera.

He’d assumed-, he’d assumed that for some reason Prompto had pulled it out of armiger right before Noctis- right before the end. He’d assumed that had to be the case, because he had also been missing Ignis’s, Gladiolus’s, and Prompto’s favored weapons, and they had been fighting off daemons when Noctis went up those stairs for what he thought was the last time. Maybe they had won, maybe Prompto had found some kind of spare battery and had been preparing to get a shot of the sunrise in Noctis’s honor, maybe-.

Maybe it had somehow wound up **here** , in the hands of a Prompto who had never used it before and didn’t —couldn’t— know what it meant.

But why? Why here? Why had it come here? **How** had it come here? Why had Pryna decided to crash in and show it to him and what did he do now with this knowledge that **hurt** because it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t **fair** that Prompto had this camera but he wasn’t the Prompto that Noctis remembered. It wasn’t fair that this camera still existed but all the memories it had contained and captured were gone, meaningless except to Noctis. It wasn’t fair and it burned like a sword through the heart and Noctis didn’t realize that he was breathing too fast past his tears until there were gentle hands on his arms guiding him down to sit on the bed. Someone was talking nearby, someone he _trusted-loved-missed_ but he couldn’t remember who, couldn’t piece together the meaning of the sounds over his head. Everything was spinning, too bright and too fragile, like if he moved he would shatter the world into pieces. Everything was lined with blue and there was frost biting his fingertips as he clutched mindlessly at the covers of the bed with one hand. He couldn’t think, it hurt to think, it hurt to breathe, it-hurt-it-hurt-it-hurt-.

Arms wrapped around him, tight and grounding and unflinching, holding him together even as his body threatened to shake apart. The voice solidified by his ear, cutting through the blue static and the pain in his _head-chest-heart-soul_ , “Noct, **breathe**. I’m right here, buddy. I’m right here.” A ragged breath beside him and the embrace tightened even further, “Ever at your side.”

Noctis whined, broken and lost and torn between hope and fury and all-consuming despair as he shifted to bury his face in his Heart’s shoulder, “Prompto…?” He raised his free hand and clutched at Prompto’s back, not able to fully focus, not daring to believe, “ **My** Prompto?”

A shiver in the arms around him, a face buried in his hair, “I’m here. I’m right here, Noct. I’m not going anywhere.”

Noctis pressed further into the hug and closed his eyes. He breathed, slow and deep, past the pain and the confusion and the flickering, bleeding embers of hope. He breathed until his magic wasn’t nipping into frost or making the world turn blue, until he thought he had a chance at functioning again, at asking questions and getting answers. He exhaled shakily, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Prompto’s hug, not yet. Prompto was sitting next to him on the bed, holding him tight despite the shivers wracking his frame —from the cold, from the pressure of magic, and if Noctis had had the energy left he would have worried about whether the Kingsglaive keeping watch had sensed the magic spike—. Noctis turned his head just enough to look at the camera clutched in one hand, “I don’t understand.”

Prompto shifted and loosened his hold, but didn’t let go, and this close Noctis could feel Prompto’s worry, his fear, “Okay so… I … this is going to sound crazy, but stick with me, okay?” Noctis nodded, faint and fragile, and Prompto rested his chin on Noctis’s hair, “About a year after you’d been kidnapped, I was doing homework, not really thinking about anything else, and I got a … a visitor. She showed up out of **nowhere** and she had Chibi- um, Pryna?- with her, and Pryna was holding this battered old camera in her mouth. I freaked because, you know, stranger appeared out of thin air in my **house** , and she told me her name was Gentiana, and that she was … she was a High Messenger of the Astrals.”

Prompto gave an uneasy laugh at the memory, “I’ve always been clean, you know? I’ve never done drugs or underage drinking. So I didn’t … I didn’t think I was hallucinating, but I couldn’t understand why a **Messenger** would suddenly drop in on **me** of all people. She … she told me that I … that I was going to be needed. That I needed to see what was on the camera, She said that, uh,” Prompto took a breath, then dropped his voice like he was quoting someone, “‘the Heart of the Beloved Chosen poured himself into this camera, for his soul was bright and his love strong, and as such this gift we may give to you, so that you might understand the Chosen’s trials when he returns home’.”

Noctis opened his eyes and stared blankly at the far wall. Piecing that together and still not daring to let himself hope as Prompto ran his fingers through Noctis’s hair in a way that felt **practiced** even though Prompto hadn’t dared be that tactile with anyone until the road trip when they were all crammed in the same tent, and Noctis’s panic attacks had been a weekly occurrence, usually when Gladio and Ignis weren’t around to see and unknowingly make Noctis feel like he had to be strong.

Prompto’s fingernails lightly scraped Noctis’s scalp in just the way that worked best to ground him as he continued weakly, “They left. Vanished when I blinked, but they left the camera behind. I was freaking out so hard, but-. But it had sounded so important, and the camera felt real, and I was … I was curious, you know? Once I calmed down. The batteries on the camera were dead and the screen looked damaged anyway, so I took the memory card out and … looked at the pictures on my computer.”

Prompto’s grip tightened, “I looked at the first picture and suddenly I was-. I was **remembering**. I could see it. The lead-up to the photo, I could **feel** it. We were in Liede, and it was **hot** , and I was aching all over because we’d just pushed the Regalia all the way to Hammerhead. Then we met Cindy and- and she was pretty and busy talking to you, so I snapped a picture. Then I opened my eyes again and I was sitting at my computer, looking at a picture of a woman I’d never seen before in my life, but now I knew her name, I knew her **voice** , and my head was pounding.”

Noctis stopped breathing entirely, and the hope in his chest burned against his will, “You could see the memories imbedded in the camera.”

“Yeah.” Prompto’s voice cracked, and a moment later hope turned to sympathetic horror. Because there were two hundred pictures on that camera, and several of them —most of them— weren’t **happy**. Noctis had woken up with all his memories, all his knowledge, but he knew what it was like to suddenly hold memories in his head that he hadn’t made.

Noctis shifted, sat up so that he wasn’t huddled in Prompto’s arms anymore, so that he could better hold his friend in return and solidarity, “I’m so sorry.” Noctis whispered, wrapping his magic gingerly around Prompto in _sympathy-pain-understanding-regret,_ “Did you … did you look at any of the others?”

Prompto swallowed hard and his eyes looked red even as he pasted on a wobbly smile for Noctis, “Once I got over my first panic attack? Yeah.” His smile fell and his expression flickered to something haunted, “It … it took me a long time. Months. I could only look at a few pictures at a time before I had to walk away. Sometimes it was the headache, but usually it was just … everything.” Prompto shook his head with a broken laugh, “Astrals man, we were so messed up. Everything was so messed up.”

No argument there. “How much did you-, how much do you remember?”

“Not a lot, probably. I … I started timing it. Trying to figure out how this worked, once I was fairly certain I wasn’t hallucinating and losing my entire mind anyway. Depending on the picture, I’d get anything from ten to thirty minutes of memory leading up to it, shorter if they were pictures taken in rapid succession. The memories always ended the moment the picture was taken. I could … I could remember background stuff that I knew during the memory, but all the details were fuzzy. Like-, I remember that I trained in the Crownsguard, but I don’t remember the training itself at all. I would remember the fact that I knew something, but the fact itself wasn’t there, you know? And … and sometimes I’d see a memory and have to walk away, because the stuff associated with it was…” Prompto’s voice wobbled dangerously and Noctis winced as he held Prompto tighter.

“How many did you … how far did you get?”

The silence lasted too long. Prompto’s expression was closed, his gaze far away in a way Noctis knew from the mirror and it burned. Prompto inhaled, slow and measured, “All of them.”

Noctis stared, horrified despite himself, and he wasn’t surprised when Prompto started crying, “All of them,” Prompto repeated brokenly, “I couldn’t stop. I had to- I had to see how it ended, but the pictures just **stop** and I can’t- I couldn’t see-.” Prompto’s lip wobbled, and his cheeks were wet as he glanced at Noctis, and Astrals he was just a teenager, a **boy** , who had enough memories to be scared but not enough to know and **understand** , “Did we die? Did **I** …?”

 _Bahamut, I am going to_ ** _stab you_** _._ Noctis set the camera on the bed beside them so he could wrap both arms around Prompto, this time the one giving comfort rather than receiving, “ **No**. You didn’t die. You did great. You- you were so great, Prom. You were amazing. All of you were amazing. We did it. We … we did it, Prom. We brought back the dawn. We saved the world.”

Prompto hid his face in the crook of Noctis’s neck and shuddered, “Then why did you come back?”

Noctis stilled. Opened his mouth, shut it slowly. The silence was too heavy to break. The secret of the answer was too precious to say, even to this Prompto who remembered but also didn’t —this one who would understand better than Ignis or Gladio, but still not **enough** —. Finally, Noctis whispered, “I had to keep a promise.” He sighed, “I- I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but right at the end, Bahamut offered me a chance. A chance to keep it. So I took it. I didn’t know-. I didn’t know they’d bring you the camera. I thought I’d lost it when I couldn’t find it in armiger. I didn’t know Gentiana had taken it somehow and brought it to you, or that you’d be able to see-. That you’d see. If I’d known… I would have told them not to. I would have told them to leave you alone.”

Prompto sat up, eyes wide and hurt, “But-! Then you’d be all alone! The only one in the whole world who remembers!”

Noctis smiled thinly, “Better I carry this alone than you having to suffer incomplete memories.” Noctis glanced over at the battered old camera, “Magic of any kind is powerful,” he murmured, explaining something Prompto hadn’t asked about but deserved to know anyway, “but what makes Lucis Caelum magic as powerful as it is … is memory. Memory makes emotion, and emotion makes spells strong, the memories of your life and everything precious in it makes armiger sing. Magic **is** memory. Usually it’s only your memory, so it’s fine.” Noctis smiled despite himself, “But … Prom- you- loved that camera, and it was always either in your hands or in my armiger, and magic remembers. I just never thought… I never realized that it would remember you too. That you cared so much those thoughts imprinted on the camera, on the photos.” His smile fell, “I’m sorry, Prompto. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“I’m not.” Noctis looked over at his friend in surprise. Prompto was still crying, but it had slowed, and there was a glimmer of steel in his gaze as he clenched his fingers, “It was terrifying, and I … I’m still scared of some of the stuff I saw, but … I don’t regret seeing it. I promised myself I’d be your friend years ago, but then you got kidnapped and … I started to forget. But then I got the camera, and I just **knew**. I knew you’d come back, and that you’d … you’d need someone to watch your back. So I kept running, and I got into airsoft to practice shooting and fighting, and I learned first aid, and I … I waited.”

Prompto picked at the band on his wrist, “I was starting to lose hope again when the news hit that you’d been found. I signed up to the school tour of the Citadel as soon as it came up because I hoped … I hoped I’d find you somehow. Pryna made me get lost, then she vanished, and I stumbled into that courtyard and … and you looked so **lost** , Noct. Like you weren’t sure if the world even existed or if you’d care if it didn’t. And I … I don’t remember everything, but I remember **enough** that I could guess why, and I just- I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I just wanted to **help**.”

Noctis leaned into Prompto’s side and swallowed hard. There were pieces coming together in his mind, fragments of behavior that hadn’t made sense, glimmers of **knowing** that Noctis had brushed off as his own wishful thinking. He’d told himself that Prompto was ignorant, that any glimpses of age and familiarity were either his imaginings or just Prompto being Prompto even back before Noctis had been mature enough to see it that way. But now he knew … now he knew it hadn’t been that at all, “The games. The hangouts. You were… You were giving me an out. A break.”

Prompto shrugged weakly, “I figured you had enough people worrying about you and trying to take care of you. So I thought … I thought maybe you needed someone who could make you feel normal again. Who wouldn’t treat you like glass.”

Noctis laughed, he couldn’t help it. Seventeen years old and burdened with severely **incomplete** memories of the road trip and Prompto could **still** figure out what he needed and how to do it. He squeezed the arm wrapped around Prompto’s shoulders, “That’s exactly what I needed, Prom. I … thanks.”

“Anytime, Noct.” Prompto sniffled loudly and fished some tissues out of the nearby nightstand. They both blew on a few of them, then sat in companionable silence before Prompto fidgeted with his pant legs and murmured, “So … what now?”

Noctis stilled. Looked over at the camera, “I … I don’t know. I-.” _I want my Heart back. I want to ask you. But I can’t. I can’t do that to you. It would be selfish._

“Will you take me back?” Noctis jerked his head around and stared. Prompto bit his lip so hard Noctis was afraid it would bleed, his hands fisting in the fabric of his jeans as he rambled, “I mean- you totally don’t have to. I know I’m not as impressive as, uh, a lot of people. Or even the once-future me. And I don’t know everything that happened so I won’t always understand what you’re going through, but I … I want to keep being your friend. I want to be **more** than your friend, you know?”

Prompto blanched a moment later at his own words, “Not in a creepy way or anything like that, I swear! I’m not- this isn’t- I just-.” He bit his lip again and one hand started playing with his wristband instead, “The road trip, what I remember of it, was really scary. But it was also amazing, you know? We were-. It was us four against the world and it **worked** for a while and I … I want…” Prompto’s ears were reddening, but there was a painful sincerity as he whispered, “I know I don’t deserve it, I know I’m not … like that other Prompto, but I want to be your brother again.”

Noctis inhaled, and for a moment he could almost feel the world turning. Could almost feel it settling back into place, back into what was **right** and it was painful, but in a good way. A way that coiled around his bones and made it suddenly easier to breathe despite the lump in his throat. Noctis reached out and gently clasped the wrist Prompto had covered and kept hidden all his life. Prompto blinked at him, then went rigid as Noctis gently pulled the wristband off his hand, “Noct, Noct what-?”

The barcode came into view, black and stark against pale skin, and Noctis rubbed his thumb gently over the lines before looking up into Prompto’s eyes, “You deserve so much more than to be stuck dealing with me, Prom.” Noctis murmured, “You always have and you always will, and I know you don’t believe me when I say this, but you are- you are so much more than just my ‘commoner friend’ or whatever other lesser category you’ve boxed yourself up in. You have always been, and **will always** **be** , my brother, Prompto. There is no secret, or mistake, or idea, or **timeline** on Eos that could ever change that.”

Prompto’s hands were shaking as he stared from his barcode to Noctis’s face, “You- you knew?”

“You told me. Last time around. I don’t think you took very many pictures during that timeframe, if any, so maybe you don’t remember, but you did.” Noctis dipped his head so he could catch Prompto’s wavering gaze, “I’ll tell you now what I told you then. It doesn’t matter where you were born. You’ve never treated me like a crown prince, just a brother. Same goes for you. If you … if you really want to be my brother, anyway.”

Prompto was blinking fast, like he was going to start crying again, and his lip was wobbling between a smile and a suppressed sob, “I do. I really- I really do, Noct.”

Noctis swallowed hard and wondered what he had ever, ever done to deserve the loyalty of someone like Prompto —nothing, that was what, he would never deserve any of his brothers no matter if he tried for a thousand lifetimes—, “Prompto Argentum,” he choked out, “would you be the Heart of my Retinue?”

The last time he’d asked that, they’d both been eighteen, riding high on graduation and slightly tipsy from the tiny bottle of wine Noctis had snuck out of a fancy event in the Citadel. Prompto had laughed and teased Noctis about making it sound like some kind of proposal. Noctis had laughed right alongside him, because the world had been comfortably small and the future bright and his naive courage endless. He hadn’t known then what he would be dragging Prompto into, or just how much Prompto would live up to being his Heart —what it meant, to claim a Heart at all, because to him it had simply been tradition to look for a Retinue, not a desperate necessity—.

This time, Prompto’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and his voice was solemn and steady as he nodded, “Always.”

Noctis gripped Prompto’s wrist, right over the barcode that had terrified Prompto all his life and likely still would for years more, and he didn’t really care that he was crying again, slow and quiet as he finally let his magic —that had been desperately trying to reach out to Prompto for over three months now— flow out of his core and settle around them. Maybe it was wrong to push his magic through the barcode to form the bond as he spoke, to stake his claim on his friend overtop the one Niflheim had branded there when Prompto was just an infant. Maybe it was silly, or even selfish. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Beneath his hand, the black ink of Niflheim’s cruel declaration of ownership slowly turned a rich, armiger blue, “Heart of my soul,” Noctis whispered, fervent and almost desperate as he leaned forward to press his forehead against Prompto’s, “light in my darkest hours. **Bravest** of my chosen brothers, **never doubt your place at my side**.”

The last yawning wound in Noctis’s soul, the gaping ache left from traveling to a time when he had no Retinue, the one that had not healed when Ignis and Gladiolus became his again, finally sealed over with a pulse and a click that Noctis could **feel** in the marrow of his bones and the blood in his veins. Foreheads still pressed together, Noctis could sense the instant it clicked into place for Prompto too. For a long moment, Prompto stopped breathing altogether and Noctis’s magic **deepened** unexpectedly, pooling inside Prompto in a way it hadn’t even tried to with Ignis and Gladiolus. Something trembled, strengthened, **bloomed**.

The newest wave of tears Prompto had been fighting back burst out and Prompto tackled Noctis onto his back with a **sob** that was a mess of words and feelings and cursing that could have made Cid blush. Hands instinctively wrapped around Prompto’s back, pinned to the bed by his crying Heart, it belatedly occurred to Noctis that this entire conversation had started because of memories granted to Prompto through **magic**. **Noctis’s** magic, imbedded in the camera and painted with future-Prompto’s will and hopes and thoughts.

And he had just given full access **to** that magic to Prompto.

“Prom…?”

One of Prompto’s hands balled up and slammed hard against Noctis’s chest, “You **died**. You **pyre-cursed liar** , you said none of us **died**!”

Noctis closed his eyes in a mix of despair and selfish relief, _Astrals forgive me._ “You remember everything now, don’t you.”

“You said we **did it**!”

“We did.”

Prompto raised his head long enough to glare at Noctis with more fury than anyone his size had a right to, “ **At what cost**?”

Noctis looked away and tried to blink past the tears he hadn’t realized were still trickling down his face, “I told you. I made-,”

“Your peace with it, yeah well **I didn’t**!” Prompto’s voice cracked, all the emotions his thirty year old self had no doubt suppressed spilling free of the cracks in a seventeen year old’s self-control, “It wasn’t **fair**! Ten years we waited and then you had to **die for us**! It wasn’t- it-.” Prompto curled up again, glueing himself to Noctis’s front and side like he could physically shield the other from the memory of dying on a broken throne, “Don’t do it again.”

“I don’t have any plans to.”

Prompto’s fingers dug into Noctis’s sides so tightly it hurt, “I mean it, Noct. **Don’t do it again**. You have to promise.”

Noctis reached up a hand and gently ran it through his bond-brother’s hair. He thought of everything that had changed this time around —the death of Besithia, his own three years spent in the wilds, Captain Drautos’s and Cor’s … entire deal, Noctis’s own **son** —, and the thought of leaving again made his soul feel like it was going to wither away, “I promise. I won’t do it again. I won’t leave you behind. Ever at my side, yeah?”

Prompto’s grip eased, “Got that right.”

They lay there for a while in silence, crying and shaking from the rollercoaster of emotions they’d just gone through that no teenage body was equipped to control, even if Noctis’s —and now Prompto’s— minds were old enough to remember how. Eventually, Noctis’s back started to twinge too deeply and he shifted with discomfort. Prompto immediately rolled off of him, obeying the silent signal learned from sharing close quarters —often **very** close, the tent hadn’t exactly been built for three normal people plus Gladio— for a year. Noctis blinked up at Prompto’s face, then huffed, “We’re a mess.” Prompto’s face was red and puffy from crying and Noctis was sure he was no better. Prompto grunted, then pointedly flopped down next to Noctis on the bed with an expression and a tight grip on his arm that said neither of them were moving out of touching distance for a long while, which was just fine by Noctis.

Noctis closed his eyes and basked in the sensation of having his full Retinue back, even if Gladiolus and Ignis were back in the Citadel. It felt so good. Steadying and warm and strong. The logical, more adult part of him whispered that he and Prompto should at least move back downstairs to the couch, to help stave off any questions should someone check on them. The rest of him didn’t care enough about that to move when the bed was comfortable —if narrow and not meant for two people— and Prompto was pressed up against his side and gripping his arm like a lifeline. A thought struck him and he opened his eyes a crack, “We should have a sleepover.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m serious.” Noctis yawned, then pushed on, “We should pack you enough clothes for like, a week, and you can come stay in the Citadel. My dad won’t even question it. Retinue bonds are finicky when they’re new and it’s healthier to have the newest member nearby while it settles. You’d have to ‘officially’ stay in the suite next to mine, but you know how to get into my suite,” oh to be sixteen and gleefully showing his best friend the secret passages in the Citadel and how to use them as shortcuts again, “no one but Iggy would even know, and he won’t tell if he finds us camping out in my room.”

Prompto considered it, “Our bond is hardly new-. Oh. I guess it is.” Prompto groaned, “This is already so **weird**. I remember being **thirty** , man, but I’m not even eighteen yet.”

“Welcome to my life.”

Prompto gave a bark of laughter and lightly hit Noctis’s chest, but there was no weight to the blow. After another considering silence, Prompto asked, “What about Dionysus? Will he mind?”

“Nah, he likes you. He’ll probably think it’s great fun to have someone else to help build a pillow fort.”

“Huh.” Prompto’s grip tightened on his arm in a questioning, tentative sort of way, and the cheek resting on his shoulder shifted. Noctis grunted in wordless question, then stilled as Prompto asked very quietly, “Noct. About Dionysus … is … is he…?”

Noctis breathed slowly, a chill of instinctive, protective fear breaking through his content haze of having Prompto back, “Is he what?”

Prompto pressed his face into Noctis’s shoulder like he was hiding from his own thoughts, then he whispered, “He’s got Ardyn’s hair.” The question hung there, the implications, and Noctis struggled with the weight of them. He could lie. His first **instinct** was to lie. Prompto was a clone himself, if Noctis said that Niflheim had mixed Noctis’s DNA with Ardyn’s to make Dionysus, he would buy it. He would accept it without questioning further. If it had been anyone else that noticed the similarity, he **would** have used that lie. Even if it had been Ignis or Gladiolus. Because the truth was not something they would be able to understand, and the fallout of their disbelief —or worse, if they **did** believe and didn’t react kindly— was too dangerous to risk.

But this was Prompto. His Heart, bravest and kindest of his brothers. This was the one who the Astrals and Noctis’s magic had somehow managed to give back the memories of, good and bad and wonderful and terrible. If it had been anyone else … but Prompto wasn’t anyone else. And if there was any person left in the world who would understand…

“After I fulfilled the Prophecy, I … spoke with Bahamut. I wasn’t dead. Not … not yet. I still had all of the magic I needed to purify the world. He told me that-, he told me that my actions had erased the Accursed. Not- not purified him, or healed him, or finally sent him to the afterlife, but **erased** him. Gone. Completely.” Noctis shuddered, “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t **right**. I know he did terrible things. To the world, to us, to **you**. But … he was human still, somewhere under it all, and he’d spent two thousand years tormented by a sickness he couldn’t cure. He deserved to be at peace after the end, not destroyed altogether. Bahamut and I got into a fight about it.”

Prompto stiffened beside him, “A **fight** fight or…?”

Noctis huffed, “Argument. Verbal. It ended with him summoning a really fancy sword and stabbing me with it.” Prompto made a growling noise like he wanted to go give the Draconian himself a few bullets to the tail and Noctis chuckled weakly, “I woke up … and I was in my old room in the Citadel. I was **fourteen** again, and the sword was lying on my bedside. I was told … the first anniversary of that night, before the full moon had set. If I got Ardyn with that sword then, I would get my second chance. If not … I had to fulfill the Prophecy all over again.”

Prompto propped himself up on an elbow with wide eyes, “You weren’t kidnapped. You **left**.”

Noctis grimaced, “…Yeah. It took me the whole year to track him down and I … broke some Niflheim stuff … and people … along the way. We were in the middle of **nowhere** when he finally found me, nothing but wilderness and wild animals for literal miles all around. We fought. It took me almost all night, but I did it. Got him in the heart, right up to the hilt. Everything went white, and when it cleared…” Noctis swallowed hard, “Ardyn was gone. And there was a naked, one or two week old baby crying his eyes out over the cold on the ground.”

Prompto gaped, “Dude- dude, what the **pyre**. You’re serious?” One look at Noctis’s expression and his mouth clicked shut, “You’re serious. Dyn is … he was…” Noctis tensed despite himself, waiting for Prompto’s reaction, for his next words. He hoped, and he prayed … but he wasn’t sure. For a moment he doubted. Then Prompto flopped down again, hugging Noctis’s arm to his chest like a glorified stuffed toy and resting his cheek on Noctis’s shoulder as he growled, “What a jerk move. They didn’t give you any warning what the sword would do? None at all?”

His hope grew bigger, “No. Not so much as a hint to buy some baby formula.”

Prompto growled, “I could shoot them for you. I really, really could. That’s not even **fair**. How did you even-. Never mind. But seriously, what a jerk move.”

Noctis swallowed, “You’re not mad? You’re not … you’re still okay with Dyn?”

Prompto went quiet, thoughtful, “I gotta admit, it kinda freaks me out. That magic can even do that, that he used to be … you know. But he’s just a kid. He’s nothing like Ardyn was, and he loves you. You’re his **dad**. His whole **world**. You can’t fake that. He’s like- he’s like Ardyn’s kid, or his clone, not Ardyn himself, and he’s your kid more than he’s Ardyn’s **anything**. It wouldn’t be fair to hold his origins against him.” Prompto laughed weakly, “Where you were born doesn’t matter, right? Considering how **I** was born … I guess the hows don’t matter either. So … yeah. Dyn and I are fine. He’s your son way more than he’s … Ardyn reborn or anything like that.”

Noctis closed his eyes with a shuddering breath and felt like the only reason he wasn’t crying was because he had run out of tears for the day, “Thank you, Prom. **Thank you**.”

Prompto’s arms squeezed his lightly, “Anytime. Oh, and Noct?” Noctis could hear Prompto’s smile even without looking, “You’re amazing, you know that? Getting into fight with an Astral and **time-traveling** just to save your worst enemy? That’s-. That’s not something just anybody can do. Or **would** do.”

Noctis huffed and leaned his head to the side so his temple rested on Prompto’s hair, “Yeah, I guess so.” He smiled faintly and wrapped his magic tighter around Prompto in _love-gratitude-trust_ , “I had some really good teachers.” Prompto chuckled faintly and peace settled around them like a contented, weighted blanket. Drained from all the emotions of the day and so very relieved to finally have his Heart back —fully back, in a way even Ignis and Gladiolus weren’t back— made his eyelids fall shut and his mind drift down into a doze. The feel of Prompto against his side, the easy rise and fall of a brother’s chest right where he could sense it and no longer mistake the silence for emptiness, dragged him down deeper from dozing into a genuine sleep filled with vague, peaceful dreams.

An unknown time later, somewhere between dream and reality, Noctis sensed someone else enter the perimeter of his magic. Unease stirred him, dragging him out of deep sleep and into something lighter, something easier to snap awake from and defend. Was it a threat? Was it-?

“-Okay in here. He hasn’t checked in for over an hour, even though his trackers are still in the house.” He knew that voice, somewhere in the blurred lines of _self-Crystal-memory-past_. Familiar voice. Friendly voice. Far more relaxed and calm than when he’d last heard it — _“You guys drive a hard bargain. Where do I sign?”_ —. But even so, was it a safe voice? Did he need to wake up and **fight**?

The hands on his arm gently squeezed, then one reached up to pet his hair in a silent signal to _calm-down-safe-fine-sleep_ before going back to his arm and the building tension in his spine relaxed and let him start to drift off again as the voice of his Heart replied, “We’re fine. He just had a bit of a panic attack over the show, that’s all. I figured he needed some quiet, and then he fell asleep.”

The other voice came closer, sounding curious and bemused as a familiar storm-touched soul drifted further into Noctis’s range of awareness, “And you’re on a bed with him and not just sitting on the couch because…?”

The hands on his arm stayed relaxed, unashamed, “I think he has trouble sleeping alone, you know? And a bed’s better for **anyone’s** back than sleeping on a couch, but especially his.”

Noctis drifted deeper into sleep, too far to make out words anymore or really care about what was being said beyond the tone of thoughtful agreement from the _stranger-friend_ nearby.

He woke up later in his own bed with the dim impression of having been carried by Gladiolus to the car and maybe even having said something to his Shield along the way before passing out again. A blurry look around revealed Dionysus happily curled up under his arm, young magic twitching with _pleasant-idle-happy_ dreams. For a moment he panicked, because he couldn’t see Prompto, but then he heard Ignis’s familiar voice somewhere else in the suit and bright if muffled chuckles from his Shield and his Heart in response. Everyone was here. Everyone was happy. His father’s magic drifted calmly through the Citadel, alive and whole, his brothers were all back together, and his son was sleeping contentedly against his side. Everything was alright now.

For the first time in **years** , since before the roadtrip and everything that had followed, everything was really, truly alright now.

Noctis sighed softly, shifted to curl more firmly around his son, and went back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Betcha didn't see that coming. :)
> 
> I decided fairly early on that I wanted Noctis to not be the only time-traveller, but that I didn't want ALL of the Chocobros to be time-travelers (you know, for the Angst™). I debated on how I could do that without leaving a plot hole, because ALL the retinue are definitely loyal enough to manually claw their way back through time after Noctis if that was an option, before remembering the Camera™. The camera is used to record so much of the road trip in the game and I got very emotional the first time I had to pick a picture to take with me into the final level, because I hadn't even realized just how many I'd saved and how many of them were of the brothers, or just funny/cool/scary things that happened in the game. So then I thought- what if the camera, soaked in all those memories and time-travel magic, got into Prompto's hands somehow? Considering Prompto is the one who pretty much exclusively handles the camera, I figured that while it might imprint memories on HIM, the others future-selves wouldn't have handled it enough to get that same effect. Then once some of those memories were transferred over, opening the door so to speak, giving Prompto access to Noctis's magic would be enough to transfer the rest.
> 
> So tl:dr I wanted Noctis to not be the only one with Time-Travel Feels but I also wanted the Angst of not everyone remembering, so before you ask, no I have no plans for Ignis and Gladiolus to get their future memories.
> 
> However there may or may not be one more character who ends up remembering parts of the future, if not all of it, but it's not anyone else in the Retinue and I'm keeping that potential character's identity under spoilers for now. ;P

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Wayward Heart (Welcome Home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443413) by [Shadow_Dragon_jem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Dragon_jem/pseuds/Shadow_Dragon_jem)




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